


Smile

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 18:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2318540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taurik wakes his dads up on their anniversary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smile

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He’s in that halfway state where he knows he must be dreaming, but it feels too good to bother struggling for consciousness. He’s sitting at the science station, or rather, Spock’s sitting at the science station, and Jim’s atop his lap, listening intently to the mission briefing while Captain Chekov explains to them that they have to land on Andor and insist the penguin residents renew their Federation membership. In Jim’s limbo state, he doesn’t notice the little inconsistencies, like Sulu at communications in a short red dress and Uhura at the helm wearing Bones’ blue tunic. Bones and Scotty are singing something in the corner. Jim is half listening to Chekov and half threading his fingers through Spock’s, playing those sliding/touching/pinching inappropriate hand games that Spock would _never_ do on the bridge.

Then the Klingons-who-look-just-like-tribbles are firing on them, and Jim and Spock are toppling across the bridge while the whole thing shakes back and forth. Someone’s calling to him, not quite his name, but a name that describes him just as much as _captain_ does.

He snorts and snuggles deeper into the pillow, stubbornly refusing to wake up. A couple shakes in and he recognizes Taurik’s voice, whining, “ _Dad,_ come on!” But Jim’s pretending he’s asleep, so he lets Taurik give Spock the royal treatment instead, insisting tighter, “Father, wake _up_!”

Jim can’t help but grin when his husband’s voice mutters tiredly, “Taurik, you are misbehaving.” Even sleep-addled as he is, Spock sounds even-toned: the perfect picture of controlled. The bed abruptly stops shaking. Taurik’s probably at attention, like he always is when he’s trying to highlight his all-Vulcan roots, even if his parents are three-quarters human.

He mumbles, “Sorry.” He’s too young to be as even as his father, and it sounds a little sullen.

Jim, taking pity on his son, (and now undeniably gone from the strange dream-world wherein Chekov ran his ship) rolls over. He has to wipe a hand over his eyes to counteract the blaring lights that Taurik’s set at fifty percent, and he grumbles, “G’morning.”

“Morning, Dad,” Taurik chirps brightly. He knows which parent he’s got a better chance of winning with, and he launches right into why he’s so uncharacteristically hyper. “Happy anniversary!”

“Thank you.” Honestly, Jim always thought he’d be the type to forget anniversaries with people; the Enterprise was his first marriage, and usually on the forefront of his mind. But Vulcan bonds don’t allow for memory lapses; he’s had the knowledge—and the emotions—stirring in him all week. He spares a look to the side, though Spock’s still on his, facing away, the blankets drawn up to his shoulders. The blue collar of his Starfleet-issue pajamas is still rumpled from where Jim tugged it aside last night, celebrating the oncoming event. Even if Spock’s ‘saving face’ in front of company, Jim can feel the interest in him. 

Jim looks back at Taurik, and Taurik asks, leaning forward on his arms, “Are we going to do anything special today?” He’s fallen into the crevice between Jim and Spock, which makes it harder for Jim to draw the blankets back up around himself. 

“I already explained it; we couldn’t get the time off until next week.” He pauses to yawn, then adds, “We’ll reach Vulcan next week and visit your grandparents and have a proper vacation, okay?”

Taurik rolls his eyes. “I know that, but you took the day off, didn’t you? Both of you?” He looks so excited at the prospect—a rarity, with one of them captain and one of them first officer—that Jim can’t help but mirror the grin. 

He doesn’t have to answer. Spock finally rolls onto his back, fixes Taurik with a stern look, and says, “Yes, but we had a long night in preparation for today, and we would like to sleep in.” It isn’t so much scolding as just Spock-being-Spock, and Taurik inclines his head in a nod. It’s times like this when he looks particularly _Spock_ -like, even if they’re not related by blood. Many Vulcans share their jet-black hair, their dark eyes, that exact curve of their ears, but Taurik’s hair is even cut like Spock’s, and all his affectations are learned. Spock would never like to hear it allowed, but the imitation is... _adorable._

Perhaps because Jim’s now looking over at him, pushing a curt, _Be nice,_ through their bond, Spock adds, “When we have properly rested, we will have ‘family time.’” Taurik bites his lip to stifle his grin.

Jim adds, _Of course he’s excited; we never get to spend time with all three of us. Cut him some slack._

Spock tells him, _‘Never’ is hardly accurate. You are exaggerating._

Taurik wrinkles his nose and perceptively asks, “Are you leaving me out of the conversation again?”

“When you are older, you will do the same with your t’hy’la.” At six, that’s a long way off, but Spock nonetheless sits up in bed to start shooing Taurik off. “Your father and I will require at least another hour to recuperate. In the meantime, I suggest you—”

“I’ll work on your present,” Taurik cuts him off, leaping back off the bed. He tugs his gold pajama shirt into place, and Jim gets a flash of his son as a miniature captain straightening his command tunic. A second later, Taurik’s racing for the door, before Jim can insist that he hardly needs to get them a present for their wedding anniversary.

Jim stops him by calling, “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To see Uncle Bones, so we can finish your present,” Taurik says with a sly grin. Jim has an internal, _Uh oh._ Spock picks up on it and shares a similar sentiment. 

But Taurik’s already gone, and Jim’s falling back into his pillow, sighing and mumbling, “Lights, zero percent.” They flicker into comfy darkness while Spock settles down beside him. 

They lie there, fully woken up and trying not to be, for a few minutes. On any other day, Spock would cite the Vulcan ability to go extended periods without sleep. But this is a special day, and they were up half the night reminiscing and lying together and making love. Memories slide easily into Jim’s tired head, from last night to their first _pon farr_ together, and Jim reaches his hand blindly under the blankets. He finds Spock’s with no trouble at all, and he idly traces his thumb over Spock’s palm, the gentle touch enough to make Spock’s breath hitch. 

Spock murmurs through the darkness, “Perhaps we should get up and shower.”

Jim sighs, “No.” He rolls onto his side, facing Spock, sidles up and throws his arms around Spock’s middle, shifting Spock so they can spoon. Spock fits as perfectly in his arms as he always does. “Let’s just lie here a little longer.” Jim pulls Spock tightly against him, and Spock’s hand lands on top of his. Spock’s fingertips run over his knuckles. Jim shivers and kisses the back of Spock’s neck. In some ways, it feels like their wedding was yesterday. Like they’re young again. In other ways, it feels like they’re exactly as old as they are, and they’ve been like this _forever_. 

He’s curious as to what his son and mischievous best friend have planned. But mostly, he just wants to lie here. It’s always hard to be out of the captain’s chair, but he belongs here just as much. The fact that they’re in the captain’s quarters, with _their_ ship humming to life all around them, is icing on the cake. Jim snuggles into Spock’s sturdy form, breathes in the familiar unscented shampoo, and wonders if sleep is really worth it; how could any dream top this reality?

He gets too sentimental on anniversaries. It’s probably spilling over through their bond, and it’s a testament to their love that Spock isn’t scolding him for it yet. Instead, Spock lifts Jim’s arm, giving space to turn around in. He shuffles onto his other side, facing Jim, and Jim holds up the blankets while he does it, ready to drop them back into place. Even if it’s too dark to see, Jim knows his husband’s face like the back of his hand—every subtle curve, every long angle, every crease and wrinkle. He reaches up to feel Spock’s bangs slipping along his forehead anyway, brushing them back behind a pointed ear. Jim cups Spock’s cheek and leans in to bring their mouths together: just something chaste and unavoidable. 

Spock presses their foreheads into one another and deepens it. His hand finds Jim’s and draws it away, interlocking their fingers. His thumb plays with Jim’s as the tops of their palms rub against each other: a more intimate form of the Vulcan caress. They’re human above that; Jim traces Spock’s teeth and sucks on Spock’s tongue and nibbles at Spock’s bottom lip, more heated every moment they linger. 

Then Spock breaks their mouths apart to sigh, “You are making it very difficult to leave.”

Jim stifles a chuckle and squeezes Spock’s hand. “You weren’t going to leave me.”

“We should shower,” Spock repeats, then adds, appeasing, “ _together._ ”

Jim grins. He rubs their noses together. Spock murmurs, _T’hy’la..._

So Jim sighs and calls for the lights, if only to get another look at the man he’s loved all his life.


End file.
